Epiphany

I am burning with fever. My body hurts in ways I've never imagined; I can bearly move outside for the pain inside my joints. My world has shrunk to my family's tiny apartment. I am lying in my bed, in neverending agony. I close my eyes, and behind my eyelids a vision unfolds.

I am walking up the stairs to the apartment above ours. I can feel the sun on my skin, and the rough wood beneath my bare feet. I look through their kitchen window, and it is uncharacteristically dark inside. It seems odd, but I can't stop myself from walking forward. I turn onto their porch, and the doors are flung wide. I step inside, and in that brief moment I see the rooms. They are shrouded in shadows. Everything is there, all the furniture and appliances, but they are still and dark and silent. There is a snow globe on the table in the living room; I can see the snow falling in it, but not what's inside it. Other than that, all the traces of personality are gone.

I turn to look at my hosts, for there are hosts: a woman and a man stand in the apartment. The woman is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. She is short, shorter even than I am, and I am only 11. She is wearing some sort of antiquated dress with lace and ribbons, and she has the most beautiful golden curls that fall down her back. She smiles, and opens her arms to me, and says "We've been waiting for you." I go to her and embrace her; I can feel her arms as she hugs me, and the smoothness of her curls on my fingers. She feels good, like home and love and belonging. I step back, and look at the man that stands behind her. He has no eyes, but if he had them, we would have been locking gazes. He is very tall, and dark; in fact, his form is made entirely of dark things, shadows and death. But he protects her, and they belong together, and I can see all that in an instant. I have no battle with him; we nod to each other, and they both step back.

Ahead of me is the short hallway that is in the apartment. There are 3 doors, 1 directly in front of me and 1 to either side. In the real apartment, these doors lead to a bathroom and 2 bedrooms. I know in this shadow place that is not the case. I also know, without being told, that I am meant to choose one of these doors. When I look to the left door I feel heavy malevolence; behind that door lies Death. When I look at the right door I feel something utterly mundane; an even and uneventful existence. Neither of these particularly appeal to me, although they would both me easy enough choices. The center door though...the center door is almost indescribable in its appeal. It feels like happiness, and other things, all together...it feels like wonder and magic and amazement. As soon as I know this, I am being pushed towards it, and light begins to glow around the door's seams. The light grows and grows until the door is pushed open, and I fall into it. Everything is white light...

I open my eyes, and my body still hurts and the fever is pounding its way through my body.

Itinerant

Do you ever feel like you wanna strap on some boots, get a wide-brimmed hat, grab a walking stick, and strike off across the moors/plains/hills/whatever? Just travel and see the world, nothing but the clothes on your back and your trusty stick.

El Mar Caribe

2 Dreams: In the first dream, all my friends who are parts of couples have children. I am the lone childless spinster, but I have the joy of babysitting my friends' offspring. The dream shows me all of them, and tells me their names, and shows me the beautiful person inside each tiny being.
In the second dream, I travel once again to St. John, the island I was raised on and will always be my home. I stay with my pseudo-brother Jesse, and it is like old times. We play together, and go swimming, and exploring in the wilderness. The weather speeds by; sunlit days, violent storms, monsoon rain that brings short-lived rivers and waterfalls. Nothing monumentous happens. It is just a dream of a life I used to live. I wake up, and am happy.

A Worthy Cause

http://www.shaqfu.com

Spring in small towns

I went to visit my grandmother today, in the Halifax hospital in Roanoke Rapids. It was a beautiful day for a drive, the beginning of another wonderful warm season. My grandmother seems to be doing better, which is good. While I was around, I decided to visit my great uncle as well, who was in Jackson itself, the family seat, a horrendously small town in the middle of nowhere. I lived in Jackson for about 8 months in my adolescence and it was a terrible experience. I don't like it very much, primarily for the residents who seem so adamant about not evolving with the times. However, there is a lot of joy to be found there, provided nobody actually tries to engage me in conversation, which, since I'm a stranger there, isn't likely anyway. While I was never able to appreciate the people who lived there, the land itself is beautiful. And in eastern america, beautiful untouched land is harder to come by than you might think. And because it's a small town untouched by the advances of time, spring there now is exactly like spring there was 10 years ago. 10 years here, in chapel hill, is a long time. A lot has happened in those years, and every passing year brings huge changes. In Jackson, every undeveloped and unfarmed piece of earth is covered in wildflowers; buttercups, violets, daisies, jonquils, even forest lilies. I walk through the town now and can pick a bouquet identical to the ones I made so long ago. The graves I visited have not been crowded further or overgrown; my bouquets decorate their stones just as they did before. I went to my great uncle's mill, and sat in the rickety interior with the old men, listening to the idle gossip and feeling the breeze blow through the door. The mill doesn't actually grind corn anymore, as it once did when I was younger. Other than that, it hasn't changed.

Spring, and summer, and the warmth and return to life that they bring, fill me with a pure and utter sense of happiness. If there is sunlight, warmth, flowers and green things, I'm at peace. It's what I imagine a religious experience is like; the sensation of being filled to the edges with a power other than yourself, being so happy you could disintegrate and STILL be happy. I smell of sunshine, sweat, and fresh air, and it's the best feeling in the world. I am still warm from the sun on my skin.

But just because I feel happy doesn't mean I'm not me; I am still full of dark thoughts. And being in a place like Jackson and the surrounding countryside makes me wickedly happy. Rural areas are filled with desolation. Decrepit buildings being devoured by time and nature. Cars rusting away to nothing. The remnants of past human development being conquered by the inevitable force of nature fills me with joy. One day, far far in the future, the streets we drive upon and the houses we live in will be broken and destroyed the same way. Trees will push through the asphalt, storms will melt the buildings, and everything will fade back into trees, and sunshine, and flowers.

Somehow knowing that makes the thought of living so much easier to bear. The mistakes we make will be erased by time and earth. It's as if nature/god/goddess/whatever has forgiven us in advance for what we will do. "Go ahead and fuck up. I'm just gonna destroy it eventually."

And by the way, if you haven't already, watch the "ultimate showdown of ultimate destiny" video from Newgrounds. It's so awesome!

fyi

I am mad at you, now. Now, when it doesn't matter, and it changes nothing.

O RLY

This is an artist's rendition of my family tree. Assuming the artist can't draw or use MS paint at all. Ahem.

So, it's story time again. Many years ago, when I returned to the mainland US and got aquainted with my extended family, it happened that my mother's cousin did a genealogy thing of their family tree. (It's worth mentioning that my mother's name is Price, and my father's is Gray.) Well, there amongst the Price ancestors was a bunch of Grays. Interesting, but hardly proof of anything, since they are both popular names. About 5 years later, I went to Nebraska to lay to rest my father's father. While going through his belongings, I discovered an old black-and-white photograph of a family reunion. This was amazing, since my father and his siblings claim to know nothing about their extended family or the origins there of. All the people in the photograph were named, and amongst all the Grays was a family of, you guessed it, Prices. Well, that was too coincidental for me. So when I returned home I told my mother we were inbred. She shrugged it off.

Two days ago, my brother got a phone call from a woman named Linda who claimed to be a family member and was looking for my dad. There's no Linda in either of our families that we know of. Later, he checked his messages, and there was one from Linda for my father, asking if he'd gotten the DNA test done yet. My brother freaked out, thinking maybe he had an illegitamate sibling or something, and called my dad for explanations. Here's the deal: Linda, a complete stranger, decided to do a genealogy of her family. Well, turns out she IS a distant relative. Her family and my dad's family are branches of the same bloodline. She also uncovered a scandal that we had been unaware of: my father's parents were COUSINS. Not 1st cousins, but cousins nonetheless. And, to make it worse, they were from Raleigh, North Carolina! So. We ARE inbred. And possibly in more ways than one.

Interesting....

You think I'd be more freaked out, but meh.

In other news, my grandmother is in the hospital. If things go south, I'm probably gonna end up out of town for a few days. I really don't want things to go south. >.<

42

So, what's the meaning of life? What's our purpose, what are we supposed to do in that space between being conceived and dying? Why are we alive in the first place?

I do not believe in the christian God, and I do not subscribe to their purported ideas of creation and a greater plan. To my humble and surely sacrilegious self, every animal and plant on our planet has a base life purpose: to propogate their species. Everything else revolves around that one goal, that one meaning. The species must be kept alive, which means that one must eat and find shelter and fight enemies, and one must produce young. To be sure, the human species started out that way as well. We fought tooth and nail, we adapted, and we reproduced. Now, fast forward through the centuries to modern times. We have built, through millenia, a System, a way of life, that enables us to survive from Day 1. There are standards of life, yes. There are levels of qualities of life, yes. But in "modern" countries, the fate of our species as a whole is no longer a huge issue. It's a given that we'll survive. To be honest, at this point in time, we'd be better off if people would stop reproducing so damn much. We've made it so easy to live that it has actually become a problem.

So our original life purpose has been destroyed, by ourselves. The civilizations, the societies, the religions, the schools...all the things that were created to better our odds of survival, what purpose do they serve if survival is no longer our primary directive?

Rewind again. Of all the animals that walked the earth, mankind rose to the top, so to speak. Somewhere along the evolutionary chain, we stood up, we got opposable thumbs, and we got some massive brainage. Somewhere along the evolutionary chain, we became sentient. With our sentience, with our new sense of self-awareness (and by that i mean not simply awareness of self, but awareness of self in relation to the Whole), we CREATED. We thought, and we applied our thoughts to reality, and we thought some more. We created philosophy, and medicine, and science. We took the natural world and filed it and ordered it into a zillion separate folders. We labeled notions and molded them to our wills. We literally bent the world beneath our will. And with this power of human creation, we wrote ourselves out of natural law.

Now, our most primitive and base concerns are superfluous. Medicine saves our offspring, the government feeds us, and the land is one huge superstructure of shelters. The unity that was created from the need to survive is no longer necessary. So the question is, what is life's purpose when the world we are born into is meaningless?

I would say we have made great progress since our days as hunters and gatherers, but I am not sure that is true. What constitutes "progress"? If, back then in the distant past, a man was asked "what is your purpose in life?" and he had been able to actually answer, are we truly more advanced now? Ask the average person today what their life purpose is, and they would be lost for an answer. Even the life goals of the modern world serve no real purpose. With no immediate concern for our future as a species, we've become self-absorbed, to the point where none of our "achievements" have any bearing on the future after our death. Unfortunately, a side effect of being sentient is realizing that there IS a future after our death. But, should we be concerned with the future at all at this point? Other than the fact that we're killing our planet, none of it has any bearing on US at all. WE'll all die before our inaction has any effect. So what does it matter?

So then, we're back at the beginning. What's the point? Why get married and have children when the arhaic concept of "marriage" is no longer necessary, and children are a dime a dozen? The world is overpopulated. And for that matter, we can raise a child on our own, or with a dozen partners, or with our immediate families. The need for a protector has expired, the reason for families gone. Why do we live in cities? The only threats to our safety are other humans, and really those are all problems we started anyway. Why go to school, get a degree, and go into a field? Name me a field that's useful in the future. Name me one professional field that isn't contributing to the destruction of our home and our species. Even medicine is killing us off, in the long run. Eventually we'll inadvertantly create a supervirus that will be unstoppable. But there's no way to stop it, either. It's like being on a train and knowing that the tracks end over a cliff. There're no brakes. So if we're all doomed, and our achievements are paltry and useless, what could possibly be the meaning of life?

And here sits our society. On the brink of International Existentialism. We've all come to this realization, whether we've admitted it or not. Humanity has thought itself into a corner. The value of an individual life has decreased vastly. Really, what is 1 in billions? The people who face this question, in one form or another, come to the conclusion that nothing matters, so why not just do whatever makes you happy? That's a good reason for living. To be happy. To love. To be loved. Whatever.

But even then, that's apathy. And isn't apathy and selfisness contributing to the problem? Thousands, millions, billions of human souls lose the unity that made us the power we are on earth. And if we aren't part of a greater whole, what are we? Individuals, lost and without purpose, devoid of meaning, and in the end, forced to create our own.

After all, creating is what humanity does best.

unbalanced

For an entire year of highschool, every pen I had exploded. And not the normal, out-the-tip, ink explosion. My pens exploded out the back end. Without fail, for the entire year. I must have gone through a record number of pens. I have assumed that this sort of ritual bizarre happenstance means I'm out of balance with something; my chi or whatever isn't jiving with the...technology? pens? I don't know. But it can't be pure "chance" when it is so systematic. After that year, the pen problem ceased, and now me and writing instruments get along swimmingly.

As I've expressed previously, my apartment is having an aquatic issue. The ceiling continually leaks. I'm starting to get accustomed to seeing that tell-tale water stain in the plaster. And it really has gotten out of control. It's sort of slipped into it's own terrible realm of surrealness. And tonight...tonight, as I'm leaving work, I see a group of guys staring at the mall ceiling. (It's been raining all day here) And there it is: the tell-tale water stain. The mall ceiling is leaking! Drip, drip, drip. The all-too-familiar nightmare sound of water where it isn't supposed to be.

So what am I to surmise from this? That, by some odd coincidence, the mall is leaking after years of never having that problem? But if it isn't some sort of coincidence, then what is it? Some sort of cosmic force fucking with me, just for the hell of it? Am i out of balance with WATER, or something? Maybe buildings? Honestly, I'd try hard to fix it if I only knew what the hell was wrong with me.

Maybe it's some sort of sign that I need to change something in my life. Make a new decision, turn a new course. Maybe I'm not paying enough attention to the cosmic directions.

F'ing Mornings

My bathroom ceiling is leaking again. This is beyond stupid. we've gone into the realm of ethereal stupidity. The apartment complex is making this up to me, somehow. -.-

The Dying Place

Dream: In an underground city, a monster hunts. It is killing the residents systematically. The killings become more frequent, until the city dwellers have no safe place to go. The death is spreading uncontrollably. The monster's movements become more purposeful, more focused.

The dream drops me into my body. I am in the underground city, and I am afraid. My family is with me, my mother and my brother. There is a way out, a portal to the Outside that has recently opened, and my mother is telling me how to get there. She is telling me how to avoid the portal guards, where to go once outside, and how to keep from getting separated from my brother. I am panicked, so it takes me longer than it should to realize that she is not coming with us. I confront her about it, and she tells me only she can defeat the monster. It seems as though she may die doing so, but there is no other way.

There is a confused montage of city streets, alleys, and corpses. My mother is pale with fear, but she soldiers on. We reach the edge of the city, and there are living people here. Pale and frightened, but alive. They are making sporadic dashes at a hole in the rock, a portal of light and muffled sound. The luck ones slip through; the rest are grabbed by giant men in armored suits, and hauled offstage screaming and weeping.

This is it, this is the way Out. My brother and I crouch hidden in the wreckage of a building, daring glances outside when we can. My mother's whispered good-byes are cut short by a shiver of fear, and the monster crests the horizon. I am surprised beneath my terror, for it is only a man. A giant evil man with hands staned with the blood of city dwellers. He is coming towards us, and we cower in terror, sure these are our last moments. My mother leaps into action, leading him away on a chase through the city. I hope she defeats him, although I can't imagine how.

The portal is still, everyone hiding from the monstrosity. We rush towards it, clambering over the stones. My brother enters first, and I push through after him...

The light is blinding, and the noise overwhelming. I am pushed aside by desparate hands, but I barely notice. My vision clears, and I am in a large room full of windows. There are lines of desks and a border of turnstyles, and a large door on the other side. I spot my brother talking to one of the people at the desks. They are taking readings from his hands with instruments. I follow the line of refugees to a desk. A man asks me questions, while plying my hands with cold instruments and needles. My brother is getting a pass, and heading out the door. He spares me one glance before leaving. The man with the instruments is frowning at a screen. There's something wrong with me; they aren't going to let me go. They will drag me off with the rejected people, and I will never be free. I'll die here, the same as I would have died underground. I pull away. There's a desk between me and the man; he grabs at me, but I take off running. I push through a turnstyle, through frightened people, and out the door, into a wide world with a wide sky. I am lost as soon as I step outside the building. I find myself across a road, and I lay down in the ditch, breathing heavily, clinging to the belief that my brother will find me here.

I am free. There are no more monsters or armored men. Yet I am still afraid, and lost, and alone. I listen to the cars pass, and feel the sunshine on my skin.

Just shoot me now.

*ring ring*
Me: "Thank you for calling Gamestop, this is Sarah, how may I help you?"
Caller: "Do you have any Wiis?"
Me: "No."
Caller: "Bitch!"
*hangs up*

ZOMG

(For those of you who can't read on account of my shitty picture-taking skillz , it says "ZOMG HAPPY BIRTHDAY")

Happy birthday Nicolai von Quante, Esquire the III.

(Unicorn courtesy of yours truly and Mattholomew Shetleezy, artiste.)

Palatial Relations

Dream: I'm half-demon, and you're half-angel. A long voyage lands us in an old cosmic safehouse, together with a brood of crossbreed friends and fiends. We are staying the night, awaiting the arrival of our savior who will lead us to the next step of our voyage. The night is windy and the pasttimes of our companions bore me, so I decide to go for a walk. Maybe the night air will clear my head, help me think, help me figure out what I'm doing here. You tell me to be careful; I wave goodbye as I walk out the door. I draw my wings around me to keep the wind away; I have wings, sometimes. Just as I have horns. When the cosmic tradewinds blow around me, my visage changes, and sometimes the full demon side can be seen.

I walk away from the house, down the road, that road that only leads AWAY. The way back is always longer than the way AWAY. The night runs around me like watercolors in the rain. Gradually, the landscape changes, and I find myself in a foreign place. It's a festival, a themepark for the damned, a literal Freak show. Like so many of our destinations, there is only IN and no way out. I am forced through it, bombarded by sights and sounds and feelings. I browse a gypsy woman's wares; she urges me to feel the cloths. The strangeness keeps coming, and to the outsider, the Other, maybe it would not be so strange. It is normal, people selling things and other people, people performing terrific feats, people people people. It is the humanity of the place that terrifies me, and all I can think about is how to escape, how to get away. I am no closer to understanding what I'm doing here, with you, but I know that I don't want to be HERE in the world that confounds me. I am frantic now, straining against the neverending current of bodies. A fortune teller grabs me with her eyes. She is large, larger than the damned people, more real to me. She shouts at me, fortunes, knowledge, and as I hear her words they are taken away from me by a greater force. She is shouting silence and ignorance at me, and I am locked there by her gaze. The river of bodies breaks me away, and I escape the festival at last, running and running. But I cannot escape the fortune teller's invisible words.

I come home, and it seems like Home now, the safehouse, and the hoard of cosmic bastards that I call a family. You were worried, and you welcome me back. You want to know what happened, and I try to explain, but all you do is stare at me with that worried look, even when my back is turned, even when you think I can't see. Time flies by like a river, flows by like a bird.

For a second, I am outside myself. I am Other, the great observer that IS. I can see now why you are worried, why things are different. I am not myself anymore. I am silent, I stop and listen to things you can't hear, and I stop to watch the things you can't see. Something has made me tragically different, and the space between us can not be bridged. It breaks my heart to watch us float away. It is ironic in the deepest sense that it is not the massive racial differences of our birth that have split us, but the simpler issue of Life and the act of living it.

My heart breaks, and the pieces fly away on the cosmic tradewinds.

Identity Crisis

My apartment wants to be a pool.

I respect entities who want to "think outside the box", and are willing to challenge conventional notions in order to get what they want from life. But I'm not sure I can get behind something this life changing. I mean, for one thing, it's one apartment built into an entire apartment building. Really, how would you walk away from that? That's like being a siamese twin and wanting to be a bird. Just doesn't work.

This has been going on periodically since we moved into this apartment, but recently it's become an epidemic. Thankfully the main rooms have been spared from the deluge. But it's annoying to have to get the ceiling replaced, in the same place, multiple times. Yesterday morning, I woke up to find our kitchen ceiling leaking water, mushy bits of plaster decorating the tile floor. Today, the sound of pouring water led me to the bathroom where water was raining through the light fixture. The light fixture!! Name me one thing about that situation that could be described as "positive".

The woman at the rental office assured me that they would make all the repairs necessary. Well, duh. That's not really my concern at this point. I figure I'll give it two more waterfalls before I get medieval on their asses.

As for the apartment itself, I figure it can be a pool after we move out, that way I can visit it in the summer, and perpetrate our relationship in an optimal manner. Just please, spare the expensive electronics.

Dingus Day

One of the most bizarre american holidays is about a month away now: Easter. Unless you're a church-going christian, or you have kids, easter means nothing to you. Doesn't mean anything to me either; just another long weekend that us retail workers don't get to enjoy.

So, in the spirit of International Chocolate Day, I'm scratching Easter and making a motion to celebrate a new (and actual!) holiday: Dingus Day!!!! This will occur on easter monday, april 9th of this Year of the Scorpion. This notion owes its entirety to dear Michal, who mentioned it to me in a previous post. Anyway, I'm sort of taking the idea of Dingus Day and making it into something new and amazing, so if you're offended...uh, sorry?

Dingus Day, the real one, is celebrated in Poland and the -slovaks. It makes as much sense as Easter does; ie, none at all. It consists of boys dousing girls with water, and girls whipping boys with ribbon whips. Or vice versa. It's sort of disintegrated in modern times into people dousing other people with water, and the whipping has sorta been fazed out.

So our Dingus Day, the new and improved "Easter", is a celebration of water, whips, and life in general. There are a few rules: 1) no buckets or hoses, since those are geographically limiting; 2) Dingus Day applies to all locations, inside and out, so "i'm at work" is no excuse; 3) any whippings can not be actually physically damaging.

I'm thinking about making some Dingus Day t-shirts. Pretty exciting. So remember: CELEBRATE DINGUS DAY!!

Do these pants make me look fat?

I've been working my old research job recently, which means I'm around the general public in a more normal role than customer/salesman. I have more time to observe, and interact in a normal sense, and it has me thinking.

Does what a woman wear affect how you treat her?

I think a lot of women have the idea that clothing choice has a large affect on how they are regarded by the world in general. And yes, if a woman dresses in slutty clothes, it's natural that she gets more sexual attention. But, along the same lines, is she considered less of a human being and more of a sex object? Can a woman be considered both? For instance, does donning a middriff shirt lessen the human regard at the same time that it raises my sexual allure? And if so, why can't it raise one without lowering the other? Is it unheard of for a woman to be a sexual object AND a human being, AT THE SAME TIME? I know how I feel. I'm pretty safe in my feelings on the matter, and I rarely contemplate what other people think about it. But now, I'm interested.

In the same vein, if a woman wears a business suit or slacks, is she taken more seriously by anyone other than herself? Does it REALLY matter? For a man who sees a woman in a halter top and starts acting like an ass, would it matter if she were dressed professional? Would he still treat her the same way if she was "attractive" to him?

There are a lot of preset ideas about propriety for women, and i'm sure men as well. I've pretty blatantly ignored them for a very long time, because it's never seemed like it really mattered. I think I'm treated differently than a woman who is taller, shorter, heavier, older, etc, than I am. It's not fair, but in life that fact holds very little water. There's no way I can win on the age issue. An older woman is granted more respect as a human being than I am. I can't change my age, and I can't change how people perceive me. It's certainly not fair to assume because I'm fairly young, I know less than someone years older than me. Or, for that matter, that because I'm young, I'm more physically able than someone older than me. That's totally untrue in most cases, but still assumed. It's also not fair to assume that because I wear skimpy clothes, that I'm a slut, or that I'm trying to to get sex. I like skimpy clothes, and I look good in them. You can admire me all you want, but you better still listen to me when I talk, or our dealings are done.

Prejudice is a bizarre thing to experience. We live with it every day of our lives, in one form or another. Yet even after 22 years of it, it's still weird, and I can't accept it. For men, it's impossible to imagine what it's like to be a woman. There are some levels of culture that people choose to associate themselves with that thrive on prejudice of all types. However, I've tried to remove myself from most of that, and still, here in the Real World, there's a base level of prejudice that I am forced to experience on a regular basis. And I'm a white woman. One of those strange mixes of European culture that ended in lumping me with a Majority for no apparent reason. But, all I have is sexism (and agism) to deal with. Shit, imagine throwing racism in there too. It'd be a never-ending battle, and it would totally and utterly suck.

The question for you, then, is this: does appearance vastly affect the way you regard and treat people of the opposite sex? (appearance including dress, weight, general attractiveness) And be honest. Anyone who reads this is a friend, so, I won't think less of you for what you have to say. I'm generally interested to know what your answer is.

............................................................

On a completely different note, there's a lunar eclipse tonight! How INCREDIBLY exciting! It's full moon AND a lunar eclipse! It's going on as I type this, so chances are, if you missed it already, it's too late. Lagrimas para ti. Exciting night ^^

Resumizzle

Objective: Escape retail hell, and get paid lotsa monies.

Profile: SWF ISO non-shitty job with good benefits, good sense of humor, and lax dress code. Likes long walks in the rain, swimming with her clothes on, and chocolate. Also likes being obeyed, so underlings are a must.

Work Experience:

Fall 2003-present Gamestop Register slave
-Bullshit buffer.
-Customer doormat.
-Corporate whore.
-Underpaid and overworked.

Fall 2006-January 2007 Waldenbooks Register slave, again.
-Customer doormat…again.

Fall 2000-present Whit Inc.
-General Gofer.


Skillz:
-Makes a mean brownie/cake/cupcake/cookie.
-Masterful misinterpretation of dress code.
-95% of replies are sarcastic and uncalled for.
-Ability to turn almost anything into a “your mom” joke.

Reasons you should hire me:
-I “have a lot to offer”
-I “have more skill in my pinky” than most of your employees have in their whole miserable bodies.
-I’m AWESOME!!!!! (what, you didn’t know?)

The Orient

Dream: I'm a princess in a kingdom made of stone. My mother is the queen, and we are a divine family. Royalty runs in our blood. There's a colliseum of stone in the center of our kingdom; monstrous concentric circles of stones, tiered. There is a gladitorial competition, and I am allowed to watch it from the top tier, an honor reserved only for members of the royal family. When the competition starts, the stone circles rise high into the air. Because I am their princess, the stones will not let me fall to my death. I am safe in the rocky embrace, and I watch the competition sprawled haphazardly on the windswept surface. The competition ends, and there is much rejoicing. The stones tilt sideways, forming a colossal slide, and it carries me back to earth. I return to my mother, who is enthroned, and surrounded by worshippers. I am the idyllic child, perfection itself, solely because of my genes. I am perfect, and beyond reproach. I linger on the edge of the crowd, and as the ceremonies end, my mother prepares to disembark. But she does not rise, and when questioned, she replies "I must wait for The Orient. He is the true ruler here. He must place the crown upon my head." And then it all comes rushing back to me, that we are holy only because The Orient decides we are. We are not perfect, we are mere mortals risen to glory by the proud and immortal Orient, a force as deep as the stones themself. The dream comes crashing down around me.